Friday, October 12, 2018

This makes odd questions commonplace for me. Some might say de rigueur. (I'd say that because I love fancy words.)

This weeks question are entertaining. So I figured I would share them with you.

Question one:

"Are you a nurse?"

This is really only an odd question because an ICU nurse asked me. Also, it isn't something I hear on a regular basis. There was this one time a cop asked me during a "routine traffic stop". Apparently, he was bored and upon seeing my USAA insurance card asked what branch of the service my husband was in. When I mentioned that it was my service that earned my right to use USAA he asked what branch.

Of course a logical question.
When I answered Navy his reply was "A nurse?"

But I digress.

This nice lady said she was curious because of the way I talked and handled myself. A compliment for sure.

Question 2:

Was prefaced with the always wonderful. "I don't want to offend you."

For normal people that is usually an indication that they are, in fact, about to get offended but I'm not normal. (see above.)

The question was "How do you talk to children?"

He was, of course, asking this because we had just finished a workout together and I pepper most of my conversations with curse words. Like ALL the time except when I am teaching preschool.

So his question was how did I manage not to say FUCK in front of small children? A valid question.

Truthfully I don't know. I do know I've not slipped up once in front of the little ones. Maybe because they are so little? Maybe because I do have a small window every day where I can control myself. Maybe it's because play-dough and glitter make me so zen I don't feel the need to curse.

That last one can't be right but it sounded good in my head.

So those are my two weird questions this week. Anyone else asked the most random things?

Thursday, September 27, 2018

When I was younger there were a lot of things about myself I would have changed.

I could go on a rant for days about my arm hair or my knees or my large Italian nose.

But the top of that list was my hands.

They were large and what I considered fat. I saw a thousand flaws and was so envious of those people with "piano player" hands. With dainty fingers that rings looked lovely on; or even fit. I tried to keep my nails long and pretty. Anything to make them seem more "feminine".

Or, at least, what I thought feminine should be.

Body image is a HARD THING.

It's so much more than just a skinny vs fat issue.

Well time has passed. I'm a different person. I love my nose.

The arm hair thing? Mostly in my head.

My hands?

I'm not going to pick up the piano any time soon but they are strong. They do what I need them to do when I need them to do it. Weights and punching and a dozen other things I torture them with and they never complain. They don't fail me.

They are covered in scars and callouses and yesterday, they were literally bleeding.

What they didn't do though, was fail me.

So who cares that they aren't going to be used in a ring commercial anytime soon. Who cares that They occasionally get referred to as "Man Hands".

The measure but which I find them beautiful is not the same as it used to be and I LOVE THEM.

Did I forget to mention I was all snuggled in my bed getting closer and closer to dreamland? Because that is where I was after I told my children of my intentions to enter dreamland. Not that they ever pay attention to me but I sometimes like to scream into the void just to hear the sound of my own voice.

So out of bed I go.

Up the stairs.

Into the lair that belongs to my teenage child.

The door is, of course, locked despite my requests to not do that.

So I bang on the door and the teenage zombie leaves his game for a moment to answer it.

Son- "What?"

Me- "You called me."

Son- "Oh yeah I thought I heard a gunshot."

Me- "And you didn't think to check on me? Save your sister? Escape to safety? Am I currently bleeding out while some thief robs us?"

Son-"You answered me."

Oh, that's right. I said 'what'. All the confirmation my kid needed after hearing what he thought was a GUNSHOT.

I heard no such thing. Again I was trying to enter dreamland but still his response to my attempted murder is not very comforting.

I hate this kind of workout. The 20 minutes is a long time to work hard. Not to mention there was running and burpees. Two things I hate the most. Seriously I hate them. So So Very Much!!!

Here's where the mindset part comes in though.

I used to hate these workout because I was convinced I couldn't finish. Worse was the running commentary that would go through my head. Is now the time to quit? What about now? Surely the next round would be enough? everything hurts and I want to cry I can stop now right?

More often than not I would struggle till the end but it would be a constant battle in my head convincing myself I could go just one more minute.

Today though, I realized I hate this workout for a whole new reason.

I no longer think I can't finish it. I know I can finish it. I know I can make it to the end without quitting. I hate it now because I know it's going to suck every step of the way. 20 full minutes of misery. No break. No rest. Just 20 horrible minutes.

Realizing stuff like this makes me happy.

Sure motivation is crap and discipline is the key to any change but there are so many little milestones that mark your journey you just have to be aware enough to recognize them.

Tuesday, February 27, 2018

Last Wednesday night I was folding laundry in preparation for Triple S's return home. Because I certainly don't wait until the last minute to make it look like I keep a perfect house the whole time he is gone because obviously, that is ridiculous.

So as I was standing there folding my husband's 300 t-shirts when I suddenly started feeling like the floor of a taxi cab. Normally I push through. It's kind of my thing.

Did you know I waxed my floor while I was unknowingly bleeding internally?

I have a hundred of these stories. All part of the "legend" that is me.

I can be stubborn and foolishly pig-headed when it comes to resting or taking it easy.

Of course, quitting the laundry doesn't count so I went to bed. Assuming that when I woke up the next day I would be feeling better.

That didn't happen of course. As I struggled with getting the kids ready I started to suspect I might have a small problem. It only got worse at airport pick up when I actually got out of the car and let Scott drive home. It was then that I promptly climbed back into bed.